


Say the Word

by mynameisnoneya



Series: White Bird and Black Dog [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9859223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: After Joffrey cruelly torments Sansa, thanks to her older brother's victory at Oxcross, Sandor chastises himself in the privacy of his chambers for not rushing to her aid.  After drinking too much, he tries to channel his raging anger and lust by attempting to take matters into his own hands.  Sandor is interruped by Sansa, his beautiful little bird who decided to come to his chambers and to try to regain some feelings of control.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story continues to explore the ongoing sexual relationship between Sansa and Sandor while she is still betrothed to Joffrey. I have not indicated her age, but since I'm blending this story with canon, Sansa would most likely be under 18. The sex depicted in this installment of the series is not rough and is completely consensual. This one was added to establish that Sandor and Sansa are in love with each other, not just using each other for their pleasure.
> 
> Although this story can stand alone, it is meant to be read after _Leave It On,_ and _Come Out To Play,_ the two stories in this series.
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not. 
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

She wouldn’t say it.

Damn her all to the seven hells, his brave little bird wouldn’t say it.

Oh, how he wanted her to say it, though.  No matter how much he willed her to say it as he stood there like the obedient dog they all thought he was, he silently begged her to just open her pretty pink mouth and say the fucking words.

S _ay it, Sansa, please say it, and I swear that I’ll gut the lot of them for you, right here, right now._

But she just sat there and took it instead.  Took their abuse again as always, damn them all.  She readily knelt before that little sadistic fucker who didn’t deserve to be king and let him wave his crossbow at her like she was some animal about to be slaughtered for sport.  She sobbed and begged him not to kill her…fucking hell, it was too much to for a man to bear.  How much longer did she really think that he could do this, day after day, standing there and watching them try to break her?

_Say it, girl!  Say it!_

All she had to do was just say it, and he would have leapt from his post on the steps.  He would have charged Joffrey and jabbed his greatsword into that evil monster’s throat as he watched the life pour out of the bastard’s hateful green eyes.  Then with sheer delight, he would have spun on his heels, smiling widely as he spilled Meryn Fucking Trant’s guts onto the floor and would have spit in the fucker’s horrified face as he bled to death at the feet of his dead, beloved king.  And then he would have taken down the lot of the Kingsguard, picking them off one by one, until they finally managed to overtake him.

He would have done all of the above if she had just said the words he needed to hear to know that she could no longer stand playing this little game.  The code words he had given her long ago after Joffrey had made her look at her father’s head on a pike.  If she would just say it, scream it, shout it…that would be enough for her to unleash him and all of his years of hate on this fucking city.

He didn’t lie to her when he told her that he would die for her.  He meant it.  Every word.  He loved her.  He loved her more than anyone or anything in his own miserable existence.  Even when they finally brought him to his knees, he would have her name on his lips and would have not regretted one goddamn moment as they removed his head from his neck. 

But Sansa Stark was an infuriatingly stubborn young lady when she wanted to be.

After he had witnessed the half-man boldly stand up to Joffrey like no one else dared, Sandor was ashamed.  Ashamed that once again, he waited patiently for Sansa to let him have his way for once and let him attack the bloody buggers who had murdered her family and who were bent on destroying her.  He might not succeed, but fuck the lot of them if he didn’t go down trying his damnedest.   Hearing that little imp’s speech, watching him march in and march right back out with Sansa on his tiny arm, Sandor wanted to bellow from the depths of his lungs that she was _his._   No man, whole or half, should dare to touch her. 

_Why in the name of The Stranger would she not just say the goddamn words?_

Seeing how pitiful Sansa looked while kneeling before Joffrey yet how regal she appeared when she exited the room, Sandor knew that the entire kingdom thought that she was a stupid, silly little high-born girl whose head was full of fairy tales and noble knights on valiant steeds.

The young woman he knew was a far cry from that.  She was brave.  Fierce, even.  They had no bloody idea.   She would destroy the lot one day when the opportunity arose, she had told him once while they were snuggling in the darkness of her chambers.  And if he would just have the fucking patience to wait for that day like she begged him to have, Sansa would damn well do it, too.

Yet, the longer he stood stoically watching her suffer time and time again at the hands of Joffrey and his bitch of a mother, he knew that his fortitude was about to snap.  He could not bear this little game any longer.  Either she had to let him end it or he would go mad in the process.

Hours had passed since the moment he had to endure Sansa’s beating for her foolish older brother’s moment of glory at Oxcross.  Now finishing his third flagon of wine, he felt even angrier than he had when Trant smacked Sansa across the ass with his boy whore of a sword.  Sandor knew he shouldn’t be drinking so much tonight.  His blood was up, damn him, and he felt like he was on fire, like he was about to burn up from the inside out.  And fuck them all, he was well-versed in how burning felt.

As he sat on the slightly too small chair of his room, Sandor tossed his empty cup on the hearth, taking slight pleasure in hearing the sound of it smashing into a million shards as it smacked against the stones.  Running his hands through his shoulder-length black hair, he tried to breathe deeply to calm his frazzled nerves, just the way Sansa had showed him how to do when he sat with her in the seclusion of the godswood.

Breathing in any manner, unfortunately, wasn’t helping at the moment.  Sandor wanted to fight.  Fight or fuck, either one, come to think of it.  Or both perhaps, not necessarily in that order, and preferably at the same time if he could somehow manage to pull that off.

After Tyrion’s little show, Joffrey thought that he would send the Kingsguard to arrest his uncle for his display of disrespect, but thankfully, Sandor had stepped in and talked the cunt down off the ledge.  After Cersei finally made her appearance, she led Joffrey to his solar and relieved Sandor of his duty for the rest of the afternoon.

Fuck her orders, fuck her son, and fuck the buggering lot of those blond inbred bastards.

Yet, Sandor tacitly obeyed, desperate to get as far, far away as he could from his handlers.  He wanted to go see Sansa, but that was impossible.  When shite like what happened today occurred, he knew that she would be surrounded by handmaidens and maesters, all trying to tend to her cuts and bruises, yet not a one of them offering any real comfort.  He decided that he would go to her chambers in a couple more hours after she had dismissed them all for the night.  If she were so inclined, he would lay with her and hold her as long as it was safe if that was all she wanted…

Fuck, now he was imaging her laying on her bed, probably wearing only one of those infernally transparent shifts and her small clothes…

Wait, no, he was going to do this right.

Now he was imagining Sansa lying completely naked smack-dab in the middle of her bed, her legs fallen open to his hungry gaze.  With one long, thin finger, she would slowly trace the inside of her wet folds, moaning in want.  Her blue eyes, the color of the summer sky, would stare at him like the wanton little bird that she is, biting her lip to keep as quiet as possible as he knelt before her, lowering his head to feast upon her womanhood like a man half-starved.

Licking his palm first, he shoved his massive hand down his unlaced breeches, stroking himself leisurely to rid himself of a least some of his tension as he daydreamed about Sansa.  Just as things were starting to feel damn good, he heard an almost inaudible tapping on his door.

_Bugger me!  Who the fuck is that?_

No one, and he meant no one, except for his idiot of a squire dared to show their face all the way down here in the bowels of the holdfast where his room was located.

“Whoever the fuck is out there better get the hell out of here before I open that door,” Sandor bellowed, shutting his eyes once again as he pulled and tugged on his long cock.

“Sandor,” he heard faintly, “It’s me.  Open the door!  Please, hurry, before someone sees me!”

_Bloody hell!_

Yanking his hand out of his breeches like a scalded cat, he leapt to his feet in one swift motion.  Sandor strode the length of his room in no more than two steps, grabbing his dagger from its sheath on the small table by the fireplace on route, before he jerked open the door to his chambers.  Without saying a word, he grabbed Sansa firmly by her forearm and pulled her inside his room.  When he stuck his head out of the door, quickly assessing the situation in the halls, he left out a small puff of air that he had been holding the entire time.  He had anticipated one of the spider’s minions lurking in the shadows and had prepared himself to make swift work of the bastard.  Thankfully, Sansa appeared to be alone.

As he shut the door, he spun on his heels to face Sansa.  “What the fuck were you thinking, girl?” he rasped, his silver-gray eyes narrowed in confusion, “You’re not supposed to come down here.  It’s too dangerous!”

Sansa smirked at him, clinging to her hooded cape that was wrapped around her lithe form, “Oh, stop it.  You sound like my Septa used to sound when she caught me doing something naughty.”  Taking a slow look around Sandor’s room, Sansa grinned.  “I’ve never been in here before, have I?”

“No, and you shouldn’t be here now, either!” Sandor huffed, ignoring her momentarily as he stalked past her to the small table near the fireplace.  Lifting the flagon, he remembered that he has consumed the last of the wine not so long ago.  “Fuck, and I’m out of wine.  Perfect.”  Highly irritated and downright horny, he shook his head, mumbling inaudible curses as he tossed his dagger onto the table.

Sansa pursed her pink lips together as she walked toward Sandor, “You’ve been drinking again, I see.”

Turning abruptly to face her, Sandor shot off a snarky reply, “Man’s got to do something around here to stay sane.”

As Sansa closed the distance between them, she made sure he was looking at her when she opened her cape.  She was naked.  Naked as the day she was born.  Miles of pale skin on complete and total display.

“Perhaps I can think of a way to help your sanity,” she said, one ginger eyebrow raised in challenge.  Approaching him cautiously, she began to move toward him.

Feeling slightly buzzed from his earlier wine consumption, Sandor groaned loudly at seeing her small snatch of auburn curls and her rounded, milky white teats on full display.  “You’re going to be the death of me, girl.”

“Sandor,” Sansa whispered as she finally stood directly in front of him, raising her hands to cup his face in his hands, “I need you.  I need you to help me to forget about this cursed place.”

“Sansa,” he moaned as his eyes shut.  The sensation of her hands sliding down his chest, lightly scratching her nails as they descended down his tunic, finally reached her target.  As her hand dipped into his breeches, stroking his member slowly and with great precision, Sandor knew that she very well might undo him in record time tonight.  “You’re hurt…I don’t think I can…fuck, I shouldn’t…”

Lost in the glory of her hands stroking him, Sandor cracked open his silver gray eyes, staring at her in an angry, lust-filled, alcohol-induced fog.

“Do you see the bruises, my love?” she asked as she released his member without warning, taking two steps backward.  He saw them then.  Hateful, purple marks on her stomach, no doubt left by Trant’s fists.  Pulling her hair over her shoulders and allowing her copper tresses to flow down her breasts, she turned to show him her backside.  “And these too?” she added.  This time, he could see the reddened welts left behind by Trant’s sword.  As his rage began to jockey for position in the list of Sandor’s heightened emotions, he growled viscerally, fully aware that his rage just might overtake him at the sight of those fucking marks.  She slowly turned around once again to face him, raising her chin with an air of dignity not befitting the situation at hand.

Sandor wanted her.  He wanted her so badly that he wasn’t even sure that he could manage to bring her to completion before he would need to pull out and spill his seed on her stomach.  The anger inside of him for the suffering he had witnessed was boiling him alive, and the flagons of wine as well as her ethereal beauty were messing with his ability to think straight.   Damn him to the seven hells, he wanted to bend her over and take her as fast and hard as she would let him, but seeing her taut belly covered in bruises…he felt like a monster for what he wanted.  She was hurting, standing before him completely exposed, just a young girl -

“I am Sansa Stark,” she declared boldly, her words interrupting his thoughts, “This is _my_ body.  And they will _never_ break me.”

Sandor’s eyebrow shot up to his hairline.  Before he could reply, she spoke again.

“And you won’t break me either, Sandor Clegane,” Sansa added with just a hint of a grin, “So, stop worrying like an old woman and fuck me already.”  And with that salvo, she turned around and sauntered over to his bed.  Crawling to the middle of his bed, she laid down in the center, scooting herself toward the edge.  Her legs parted, giving him a completely unhindered view of her lady parts.  “I’m waiting,” she purred as she began to stroke her slick folds with her fingers.  He could smell her from where he stood, she was already that wet for him.

_Well, you heard the lady, didn’t you, dog?_

“And how does milady want me to fuck her tonight?” Sandor muttered while he yanked his tunic over his head, tossing it behind him to the floor.

“Hmm…” she moaned.  She closed her eyes while inserting one slender finger insider her cunny, “That’s a tough decision…”

“Chirp quickly, little bird,” Sandor warned as he shoved his breeches and smallclothes to his ankles, reaching down to rid himself of the last vestiges of his clothing, “Or I’ll have you the way I want to have you right now.”

Sansa continued to ignore him, fully intent on driving him crazy with desire.  She widened her legs further apart, groping her breast with one hand while rocking her hips in time with her finger that was pumping in and out of her, “Oh, Sandor…please, I need you!”

“That’s enough of that, you naughty little bird,” Sandor growled, “That cunny is mine!”  And with that declaration, he lunged forward, straddling her hips and grabbing her hands both from her breast and from her nether region.  As her eyes flew open, he chuckled darkly as she gasped at the sight of him taking her wet fingers in his mouth, sucking her juices until her fingers were clean.

“Fuck me, please,” she begged when he lowered his head, kissing his way down her collarbone toward her breasts, “I don’t…not slow…I want it to be rough and…”

As he continued to kiss her body, he heard her request.  Sandor knew that she was begging him to take her like he had wanted to take her just moments ago.  But for some reason, in that moment he couldn’t.  He couldn’t play their little game tonight.  He no longer wanted to fuck her senseless.  He didn’t want to relentlessly pound his stiff cock into her cunny while he held her down.  He didn’t even want to take her from behind like he had dreamed about doing last night while all alone in the darkness of his chambers.

No, tonight, Sandor wasn’t going to play her game.  She wanted him to dominate her, to show her The Hound.  And then after a while, she would bare her teeth, unleashing the wolf inside of her that she had to bury each day just to survive this wretched place.

Even if she didn’t want it this way, tonight he was damn well determined to show Sansa how she _deserved_ to be loved.

“No, little bird,” he whispered, pausing to suck one of her pert pink nipples into his mouth.  Releasing it with a pop, he raised his eyes to meet her confused expression, “I’ll not be rough with you tonight.”  He lowered his head again, resuming his slow, deliberate kisses down the valley between her cleavage.  As he kissed the underside of her breasts, he paused again, raising his head to look at her, “Pretend it’s your wedding night and the handsome knight of your dreams is about to make love to his beautiful bride.”  With his vow, Sandor lowered his head yet again, placing gentle kisses on each of the marks her tormenter left behind on her abdomen.  “Let me try to make you forget this place, even if it’s just for a while.”

He could hear Sansa begin to cry softly as he kissed each of her hipbones, sliding down off the bed until he was kneeling like the most unworthy subject he felt like he was at times.  Working his way down to her curls until he reached her womanhood, he looked up into her pale blue eyes.  “You’re the most beautiful little thing, do you know that?” he rasped right before he lowered his mouth to her core.  He lazily licked her folds, teasing them slightly with his nose before lightly inserting his tongue into her tight little hole.

“I am yours,” she sniffled, her hands finding their way to his hair, “I am yours.  Yours alone.”

He parted her with his right hand, revealing the little pearl hidden in the depths of her folds, and began to suck it slowly.  Each time she moaned or praised, Sandor wished that they never had to leave the solace of his chambers.  If he were to die tomorrow, this is what he would remember as his last breath escaped him.

Slipping a finger inside her, Sandor continued to lap and suck her clit, pumping his finger slowly at first and then increasing the speed the more she writhed and bucked into his mouth.  Before long, Sansa was keening, her chest heaving as she gasped for air when her climax overtook her.  The way her fingers scraped his scalp almost assuredly drew blood, an action that made Sandor chuckle.

“Let me have you,” he murmured as he rose from his position on the floor.  His aching cock was weeping already, standing at full attention in the glorious anticipation of burying himself inside of her.

“Yes, please,” Sansa smiled, lifting her arms to offer him an embrace, “I need you.”

As slowly as he could, Sandor moved over her, supporting himself on one elbow as he nudged her legs even further apart with his knee.  When he lined himself up at her entrance, he stopped with just the tip of his cock touching her cunny.

“Sandor?” she asked, her head tilting to the side.  Her delicate hands were poised on his broad shoulders, her ginger brows knitted together in confusion once again.

“I love you,” Sandor whispered, almost too afraid to ruin the moment by whipping out that proclamation.  But he did.  Damn him, he did.  She deserved so much better than an old, scarred dog like him.  Sansa Fucking Stark deserved the handsome knight in her stories and fairytales that he had mercilessly taunted her about since her stupid father brought them to King’s Landing ages ago.  Yet, here she lay in his arms, smiling at him and letting him have her like she couldn’t be happier with her choice of men.

“I love you, too, Sandor,” she grinned as her hands slid up his neck and clutched his head.  Pulling firmly, she brought his lips to hers, sliding her tongue along his bottom lip.  Allowing her access, Sansa kissed him fiercely, almost as if she had read his mind and had decided to show him that he was worthy of her love.

Unable to hold out any longer, Sandor lowered himself, fully seating himself inside her warm, wet cunny as they kissed one another with all their might.  His movements were already erratic, his hips moving almost of their own accord as he drove himself into her.  Breaking their kiss, he pushed off her far enough that he could drink in the vision laid before him.  She was breathtaking…she was the most extraordinary creature…and she was his.

“Fuck, Sansa…this isn’t going to last long,” he moaned when she wrapped her terribly long legs around his waist.

Her face didn’t show the normal signs that she wanted to verbally spar with him or to tease him about his lack of self-control when he was good and worked up like he was right now.  Instead, her smile was soft and her eyes were bright.

And when she grabbed his ass firmly, squeezing as hard as her dainty little paws could muster, Sandor came hard and fast, biting his bottom lip as hard as he could to drown out the scream of joy that was about to escape his mouth.

Completely exhausted, he collapsed half on her and half on his bed, a bed that was unfortunately too small for having an overnight guest.  As he flopped onto his back, scooping her into his long arms, she laid her head on his chest.  Running her fingers through the coarse, dark hairs that covered him, neither of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, Sandor took a deep breath, fully aware of the ramifications of their coupling tonight.  “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, “I shouldn’t have come inside of you.  I’ll need to see the maester for some moon tea.  The gods be damned, you don’t need a dog’s bastard in your belly.”

“Maybe I’d like to have your child,” Sansa spoke so quietly that he wasn’t even sure that he had heard her say the words.  His head snapped toward her, his eyes wide with amazement.  “What?” she smirked, “Can’t a lady dream?”

With that little banter, Sandor lost it.  He laughed and guffawed, chortling so intensely that his sides began to hurt.  “A child?  You want my child?  Bloody hell!”

Sansa just laid there watching him enjoy himself, completely content to let him have his little moment of fun.  As his fit began to subside, she raised up onto one elbow, now looking down into his reddened face.

“One day,” she began, all merriment disappearing from her pretty face as she stared hard into his gray eyes, “One day, Sandor Clegane.  I don’t know how and I don’t know when…but one day…one day, I will.”

Sandor couldn’t believe it.  This beautiful, amazing high-born lady, a young girl who was blossoming into a fierce, bold woman, said that she wanted to bear his child.  And fucking hell, she _meant_ it.

“One day,” he smiled in return, reaching up to stroke her wild copper tresses away from her face, “One day, then.”  The wine was starting to catch up to him now as he laid on his bed with her warm body pressed snugly against his.  His eyes were heavy.  His breathing was slowing down as he began to let sleep overtake him.

“I have to go now,” she whispered, her smile fading as she watched him start to fall asleep.  “I know the secret way you showed me once.  I’ll be fine.  Sleep, my love.”  Placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, Sansa slipped out of his arms, covering his naked form with a fur blanket that was laying on the foot of his bed.  Quickly gathering her cloak from the floor, she draped it over her thin frame, raising the hood to hide her face from the world.

Watching him lying still, his well-defined warrior’s body at rest, Sansa swallowed hard.  Earlier today, she knew that he was quivering in full anticipation of coming to her rescue.  The way his jaw was clenched and his mouth was curved into that hateful sneer that he sported when Joffrey pulled one of his stunts, Sansa knew without a doubt that as Trant had hit her and had whacked her, all she had to do was say the word, and Sandor would have saved her.

Saved her long enough for her to witness her captors finally take him down and force him to watch as they tortured her and raped her before they finally beheaded her.

No, Sansa would wait.  She would wait until the day came that she could destroy the Lannisters and the Baratheons.  Her day would come, if they could just be patient enough.  And then…and then she would say the words that Sandor so desperately wanted her to say to him.  Then he could unleash his fury at them in all of its glory.

As she slowly opened the door to his chambers, she looked over her shoulder, smiling at the sight of her clandestine lover soundly snoring on his bed.

“White Bird.  Black Dog,” she whispered to him softly as she closed the door behind her, the words that Sandor had told her to say to him when she was finally ready for him to try to help her escape.  “One day.”

**Author's Note:**

> Although this entry was all warm and gooey, full of emotions and all of that business, my muse is leading me elsewhere for the next installment...stay tuned!
> 
> As always, if you liked this story and would like to see more vignettes in this series, please make sure you leave a comment to let me know!


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